


Self-Restraint

by quillingyousoftly



Series: MCU Kink Bingo fills [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-public masturbation, Sexting, workplace masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:41:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23169478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quillingyousoftly/pseuds/quillingyousoftly
Summary: The picture was of Jack lying in bed, shirtless and with his hand down his gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips. 'Missing you,' the text said.
Relationships: Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
Series: MCU Kink Bingo fills [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1626025
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26
Collections: MCU Kink Bingo Round 4





	Self-Restraint

**Author's Note:**

  * For [winter_angst](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/gifts).



> Crocsy is her creation; I just found a picture of a cat with a croc on its head.
> 
> For the 'Masturbating' square on my MCU kink bingo card.

It was Brock's fourth hour in the office, and he didn't know who was losing his mind more: him or Jack.

Jack had gotten shot on their last mission. It was nothing too serious, but got him on medical leave, which meant he was lying down and getting bored at home. His only entertainment seemed to be taking 'funny' pictures of his mean, fat cat Crocsy and sending them to Brock.

It was a slow day at the Trisk; Brock holed himself up in his office to catch up on paperwork. He set his phone down on the desk, awaiting alerts about possible missions, but instead of that, he was getting sick of looking at Crocsy with Jack's croc on his head or his own little crocs on all his four paws. He knew well how bored Jack was; he had had to spend months on medical before, but  _ Jesus,  _ didn't Jack know what self-restraint was.

He sighed loudly when his phone pinged again and picked it up, expecting another picture of Crocsy. He was seconds away from calling Jack and ordering him to piss off. He opened the message and froze.

It wasn't Crocsy.

The picture was of Jack lying in bed, shirtless and with his hand down his gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips. 'Missing you,' the text said. 

Brock's tact pants became suddenly too tight; he hasn't seen Jack in the past few days and had been missing him, too. He tapped the picture to enlarge it. Jack's face was cropped out, the focus on his toned, muscular chest. He licked his lips, glanced at the door to his office, and shook his head.

'Are you out of your mind?' he texted back. 'You're fucking lucky I'm alone rn!'

He didn't wait long for a response. It was another picture. Jack had pushed his pants down his hips, and his large hand was gripping his flushed cock. Brock's mouth went dry, and his free hand found the bulge in his pants. He sucked in a shaky breath.

Jack was a fucking asshole, teasing him like that.

Brock glanced at the door again. Since he had arrived, no one came looking for him, but it could change any minute. His phone pinged again, and he was almost wary of what he would see, but it was just a text.

'Like what you see?'

'No asshole,' he typed with his thumb, his other hand still cupping his crotch. He did a quick math; he could do it in less than five minutes if he was fast. He could lock the door; if someone looked for him, they'd assume he left and come back later, none the wiser.

'I can show you my asshole,' came another text.

Brock groaned and, with his hand pressed tightly against his erection, he responded, 'I called YOU an asshole.'

But he was a second too late; in the next picture he got, Jack had his legs spread wide, showing off his firm butt and tight hole, his fat, red cock trapped in a tight grip. Brock shut his eyes, but the image was burned beneath his eyelids. He searched his mind for a distraction, but it was flooded with thoughts of Jack fucking him. Jack's mouth sucking him, Jack's body covering him, Jack's dick pounding his ass. He groaned and rushed to the door to lock it, hurriedly undoing his pants and pulling out his throbbing dick. He didn't make it back to his chair; he sank on the floor against the wall, grabbed his phone off his desk to stare at the picture as his sweaty fist pumped his cock. Jack sent another text, and he tapped it to read.

'Are you touching yourself?' Because of course he knew.

Biting his lip, Brock decided to get even and snapped a picture of himself. He slowed down, feeling safer now that the door was locked, and focused more on the screen than his arousal, not wanting to miss Jack's reaction. When it came, it was short, but telling.

'Fuck.'

Brock smirked to himself as he rested his head against the wall, his hand picking up speed as it slid up and down his cock. He scrolled back to the picture and imagined himself sitting between Jack's thighs, imagined it was his cock he was jerking, that he was making those breathy little moans—

He froze and clenched his teeth. He wasn't exactly safe; the walls were thin, and he didn't need any curious agents knocking on his door. Breathing hard, he let go of his dick for a moment to take off his t-shirt. It was sweaty already, but he balled it up and bit on it all the same. His cock jumped impatiently, and he grabbed it tightly, shutting his eyes and imagining it was Jack he smelled. 

His eyes were a little bleary when he opened them upon hearing another ping. Lost in his fantasy, he almost forgot where he was, but now it hit him that he was jerking it in his office like there was no tomorrow. He was too consumed with the need to cum to be embarrassed about it though.

He looked at his phone he had been clutching and swiped his thumb over the screen to unlock it. Jack sent him another picture; his cock was resting spent against his stomach, his abs and flushed chest stained with stripes of cum. Brock moaned, long and throaty, the sound coming out muffled through the t-shirt. He was gripping his cock so firmly now it hurt, beating it mercilessly, until  _ finally,  _ he felt himself tensing all over. His hips bucked, and stripes of wetness hit his stomach and chest. He stroked himself through aftershocks with his mouth hanging open, sucking in heavy breaths, the t-shirt having fallen to the floor.

When he finally came down, he was feeling sticky, but satisfied. He picked up his phone he must have dropped earlier and shot a picture for Jack. Then he straightened up gingerly and used the t-shirt to wipe himself down. He had a spare in his locker, and he could use his STRIKE jacket to cover himself.

His phone pinged with Jack's response when he stood up to open the window. He was feeling a little lazy after his orgasm, so he didn't check it immediately, instead standing in the window for a while, letting the cool, soft wind and warm sunlight dry his sweaty skin.

He was getting his jacket off a hanger when he finally unlocked the phone to see Jack's text.

'I'm hard again.'

Brock frowned. He wasn't sure how much time passed between Jack's orgasm and Brock sending him that last picture, but he believed him. He got another text before he thought up an answer.

'Come over tonight. Please.'

Brock looked at his desk that was still covered with stacks of papers and considered the pleasant buzzing he was feeling in his crotch. He could lie to Sitwell about some emergency and get out early; chances were, no one would miss him today.

'How about right now?' he asked.

The reply came immediately. 'Yes, please.'

Brock smirked, stuffed his dirty t-shirt and phone into his pockets, and left the office.

**Author's Note:**

> Crocsy:  
> 


End file.
